


Once

by PhoenixDragon



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Dark, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-05
Updated: 2005-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reflection of the past and the possible future after Loyalty. Adrift and with nowhere to turn, Wesley has only himself to rely on - and no way to forsee what lies ahead...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at WesleyFanfiction.net. Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile.

Title : Once  
Author : PhoenixDragon  
Feedback : phoenixdragondreams@gmail.com  
Category : Angst, Drama, Dark Fic  
Pairings : None – for now  
Rating : R  
Date : 06-28-05 to  
Status : WIP  
Series : None  
Season/Episode : None  
Spoilers : None  
Archives :  
Summary/Synopsis : A reflection of the Past  
Notes : As always thanks to my Mom, and my husband, Mike – if not for them, none of these fics would be possible. And to Niege for a lovely collage/artwork called Train that inspired this fic.  
Warnings : If darkness ain’t your thing – then what are you doing watching Angel?! A look at the past and the possible future for our Wes – and a little of the penance in between. And if that don’t grab ya –  
Disclaimer : I don’t, nor will I ever, own them. Angel & Co. is owned by Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Mutant Enemy, Fox and WB – not necessarily in that order. I am just playing with them – and when I’m done I’ll be more than glad to hand them back over – I just can’t guarantee their condition though…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reflection of the past and the possible future after Loyalty. Adrift and with nowhere to turn, Wesley has only himself to rely on - and no way to forsee what lies ahead...

Part I – Once…

_**Once there was normalcy – there was time to take a breath...** _

Fred...

Her smile sparkled from across the atrium, her eyes shining with warmth and companionship.

Lovely, soft, sweet Fred.

Her mouth curved into a laugh and those beautiful eyes crinkled at the corners –

But not at me.

I was in the office, pouring over the Shelidi’ lost language – wrapped in the comfort of words that had died long ago, their dust in the pages the last tribute to this demon species that breathed their last, centuries before.

Fascinating, really…

But not as fascinating as the creature that dominated the hotel’s lobby at this moment – her beauty ageless in itself – but further than the grip of the tome in front of me.

No, she wasn’t smiling at me.

But at _him_.

I loved him too, once. He was my best friend, my confidante. The only one who couldn’t claim to know me from ‘before’ and judge me accordingly.

It was funny, really – your average working woman had nothing on me, when it came to having to strive harder, push harder to gain the respect of peers and colleagues. And still, I was lucky if I got _half_ the response to twice the work.

After a good two days of translation, finding the right spell, the right combination of herbs and that special weapon that could only be used on this type of demon – I’m almost grateful for a ‘ _Hey, Wes, good job._ ’ from the boss -

Delivered in his traditionally bored fashion, eyes already elsewhere.

I’ve grappled with, even grown used to, the fact that I am nobody. But sometimes that knowledge will solidify in the middle of the night, creep beneath the sleeping dark – to steal my breath away.

**I make no difference.**

Once there was time to take a breath – even if it wasn’t mine. Even if that breath existed on the lips of yet one more thing I cannot have. I close my eyes, and open them again –

To continue to read, from the dust of ages.

 

 

_**Once there was hope…** _

Even as Connor cried from his vulnerability in his car seat – even as my heart raced with fear, anger, adrenaline and hope – my fate stepped out of the shadows with a crooked, bloody smile and blackened eyes.

I never saw it coming.

Once, there was hope, but it ran free as my life mixed with the leaves and dirt beneath me on the ground. Even as I struggled to sit up, to reach for the Hope that wailed from the confines of my silver escape – it escaped without me –

In the hands of the bloody smile, that lied as it pled for my aid.

I’ve never felt so stupid, I’ve never been so _tired_ –

Somehow, I was wrong.

And that thought made me more tired - more cold.

Once there was hope...

And yet, as my breath flew away from me in plumes of exhaustion and pain, I closed my eyes to welcome the unknown Dark, as my hope ran free – like so much lifeblood on the ground.

 

 

_**Once there was friendship…** _

They all turned away.

They knew, _knew_ what I had been trying to do – how I had been trying to save us all –

And they turned away, nevertheless.

It was then, that I became reacquainted with Hate.

I thought I had known hate when Faith had tried to kill me. But even then, as little as it was shown – I knew friendship, and I was supported, held by it. It made the long nights of fear and horror a sunshine compared to what I was going through now.

He had tried to kill me…

And they stood there and watched – before coming to their senses long enough to stop him.

I saw it in their eyes – they knew, but they wouldn’t or couldn’t tell him.

 **His** hate, his _anger_ – I understood. He was a father. Any understanding – if it was to come – would take time.

But the others…

They _knew_ –

And still, they turned away.

But then – and this is good for a laugh – none of them had bothered to _ask_ , did they?

No, not even him, in his righteous rage of an angry father. None of them had bothered to find out what was going on.

He had even known that I had gone to Holtz – but he had never stopped to ask why –

They had all just assumed that I would betray them.

Betray them – when I had tried to do the opposite.

**I hate them all.**

Yes, once there was friendship –

Now, there is only the Dark.

 

 

_**Once there was life without Pain, without penance…** _

But that, in itself – is a lie.

I watched the edge of my wineglass, the way light glanced off of it to arc into the confines of the living room, a rainbow to be swallowed by the darkness.

My life has never been free of pain, of penance. I’ve been atoning from the day I was born – my life a harsh penalty for the very fact that I was living it. I strove harder, learned faster, absorbed quicker – and I dealt with the blows that came with it. It was hard to imagine that I was ever innocent and naïve – but I was.

When I stepped beyond the dank confines of the Watcher’s Tower, when I stepped beyond my suffocating boundaries of house and home – I made the mistake of thinking things would be different.

And I fucked up badly…

I made numerous errors and none of them can be fixed with a word, with a hug or even a full blown tea and heart to heart with crumpets galore.

But, I _paid_.

I took my punishment – though I resented it, I took it – and I learned from it. No one likes to have the past come back to slice them apart, when that past was long behind, and many counties away.

But then _she_ came – and she put paid to the idiotic idea that bygones can be bygones – that innocence felt is innocence lost.

But she had never _been_ innocent.

I had forgotten that…

My first Slayer – and I blew it. Faith had been handed to me on a platter, seeing as how most Watchers have to wait and see if the Slayer comes to them – look at Giles – and I had made the mistake of taking her on, instead of handing said platter back to the Watchers with a ‘ _Sorry, you seem to have mistaken me for someone else – you gave me the wrong order._ ’.

I wasn’t ready.

But, then, I suppose that no one is, not even the most learned individual.

But then, I knew it wouldn’t work – and I just took the job, anyway.

It was different.

Things would work out.

Right…

Like they had at home?

I took another sip of wine, and contemplated the shift of the liquid as it found it’s place in the bottom of the glass – as it settled back to it’s composed elements in it’s restrictive container.

Found it’s place.

I should never have left England…

Thinking of Faith was easy. That hurt was far from me, and could be easily dealt with, rationalized and placed in it’s own compartment of things to be remembered and learned from.

My mind had come to terms with it awhile back.

Lessons learned and all that.

I could feel the air getting heavy as my mind goes from the Lesson of Faith, to the lesson of faith – and my ‘friends and comrades’, known as Angel Investigations –

 **Angel**...

My breath caught it my throat and I unconsciously clutched at it, as if one squeeze, one stroke of my fingers, could remove the invisible band that was wrapped around it. I could feel the blood rush to my face and managed to gasp a quick inhalation, relieved and afraid –

Afraid that I wouldn’t be able to take that next breath –

Or all too afraid that I would.

He hadn’t even bothered to try to bleed me.

No, the scum known as Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was to be removed, blotted from the earth like an unwanted kitten – to be smothered, to be suffocated – like a common thug would do to another common thug.

Or, to make a long story short – I wasn’t worth killing the normal way –

Angel probably didn’t want to get his teeth dirty. To have the blood of a kidnapper mixed with his own, the blood of his son’s snatcher pumping through his veins, giving him life and health.

He hadn’t looked at me, as they dragged him away. His eyes were filled with a terrible rage and disgust – like he couldn’t even comprehend how he had managed to _touch_ me, after what I had done.

After I had tried to save us, to save _him_ , from his worst nightmare.

All of these things were understandable though –

Good ‘ol Wes, always struggling to understand. To put things in perspective, to step into someone else’s shoes.

**I hate myself...**

Faith’s rage and hate were understandable, to a point – and Angel’s even more so.

But the others…

I watched the wineglass as it shimmered and doubled, the tears of my own rage and pain trying to surface.

I quashed it.

I could rationalize everything – and everyone, else – but I couldn’t understand my own pain, my own hate. It was uncalled for, unwarranted.

But I _felt_ it.

I felt like screaming ‘ _I tried to save us, and this is the thanks I get?! I tried to help you, and you couldn’t even bring yourselves out of your own miserable little lives to even ask how I was doing, much less_ what _I was doing! No, everyone else is SO much more important – I should have let him **kill** you, _ kill you all’ –

But I didn’t.

And in the end it wouldn’t have mattered much anyway…

**I had been wrong.**

I guess I should feel flattered – someone obviously went to a lot of trouble to trick me. But all I feel is tired, drained.

I missed something –

And it had cost me everything.

Cordy should be back by now.

How much you want to bet, that she won’t step foot through my door, ever?

Huh.

I wouldn’t take that bet, either…

 

 

I finally stretched out on the couch, too tired and too unwilling to make the distance from my living room to my bedroom – head spinning with empty thoughts and voided rage, muscles taut and sore from sitting for hours in one position, unmoving – the embodiment of stillness.

Waiting.

For what, I can’t say. But having sat for so long, body poised to spring at the first breath of sound, the first flicker of movement, I was left achy and bad tempered – so much so, that in the wee hours of the morning, I finally forced myself to lie down and try to rest.

 _Right_ –

Like that was going to happen any time soon.

The flesh of my throat flamed and burned, from where I had clawed at it earlier in the first hours of my vigil – during the moments I had lost the ability to even breathe – the scar Justine had so graciously bestowed upon me, throbbed dully with each beat of my heart, my nails having caught and tore against the healing tissue, which was still sensitive and raw – the pain of it a subdued agony. But not bleeding afresh – though by all rights it should be. At least…

Not yet.

It was going to be a very long night...

 

 

 

I stared into the darkness beyond, the dawn a faraway dream in the pale coolness of twilight – I stared, and wondered _why_ –

Why I had waited, and what I had been waiting for, so immobile and restrained in the prison of my own living room – and just what was waiting for me now, to close my eyes for sleep to take me away from the reality of my current existence.

Just what lay in the darkness around me, poised, just as I had been for so many hours –

For the ring of the phone.

A knock at the door.

I would laugh if I didn’t feel so close to weeping.

I peered, unblinking, into the black – as still as stone, as unmoving while prone, as I had been while I was upright – contemplating my new, so called ‘life’ –

My life without the warm comfort, as meager as it was, of friendship – my life without the blazing glow of love given, and love returned, that I have so craved for so many years. My new life of voided promises and bitter recriminations – a life of long hours in the dark, tinged with the acidic taste of loneliness and regret.

A life that would have been better, if it had only ended at the foot of that accursed tree, it’s roots drinking my life-force as it flowed, unchecked from my slashed throat – or, if we go even further back – at the hands of a crazed Slayer, hell-bent on exacting revenge, one shallow cut at a time.

To have come so far, to have learned and lost so much – only to be here now, to have reached this stage so far beyond square one, I was pushing the negatives.

If Angel still wished my death, I would have to say, as I lay here in the darkness, that I wasn’t far behind him. After all, what else is there to live for – now that I had lost all _but_ my life?

An empty, lonely lifetime of acrid hate and resentment?

Maybe.

Maybe, that’s what I had left, after all –

The twisted husk of my own Darkness – to be fed on a steady diet of disappointment, pain and fear...

My heart was a cold lump of steel in my chest, as I breathed through waves of fresh pain – the darkness around me cooling to match the chill so deep inside me, an icy cocoon that breathed with me, through me – easing the bleakness that shone out at me at the heart of midnight. The darkness slithered up the sides of the couch to reach out for me – it’s cold comfort the only thing I really did have left, the only thing that could ease the turmoil that raged inside me.

I have never feared the Dark.

Which was probably, in the end – the main reason I was so fucked up –

But how can one fear and reject the thing that kept you safe from unknowable danger, that held your deepest secrets – that wrapped you in it’s black arms and hid you from the monsters that lived in the light, lurking behind pleasant smiles and deadly kindness.

I let the dark weave itself around me, cover me in a blanket of breathing silence, the chill warmth of the abyss – and the whirling dance of my thoughts subsided, settling in on themselves, to seep through the cracks of my mind – like wine conforming to the smooth curves of a glass holder.

Every molecule of my being absorbed the quiet solitude of the darkness – and for a little while, we breathed together as one entity.

It shivered through me, then – the solution, the _answer_.

I would just continue with my mission.

Even though my line of work had gotten me into more trouble than I can count – up to and including, this latest disaster – I knew I was still the best you could find anywhere on this continent.

Just because I was no longer a part of Investigations, didn’t mean I had to stop altogether. After all, I still had to make a living somehow – there was still me to take care of, and just because my so called ‘friends and co-workers’ didn’t want or need me, anymore – didn’t mean I had lost my abilities and knowledge.

Or my contacts –

Which were many.

I mused on this idea, until sleep overcame the churn of my thoughts, carrying me down to an all new well of horrors – where I would toss and turn, trying to escape, all to no avail – as dawn slowly bled over the horizon to start another day.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.wesleyfanfiction.net/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1414>  



	3. Once... by PhoenixDragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reflection of the past and the possible future after Loyalty. Adrift and with nowhere to turn, Wesley has only himself to rely on - and no way to forsee what lies ahead...

Part II – Clarity…

_**From the Chill of Dawn, Clarity breaks from over the horizon…** _

I had never grieved for him.

Even when I found myself alone with nothing but thoughts and pain, I had never let my mind touch that point. He was gone – Holtz had taken him – and all I could think about was the fact that I had let it happen.

I fought the good fight, for the good of all – for the father and the son – and it was all made meaningless in under two hours.

Days of sleepless nights, consumed by waking nightmares. Hours of trudging through panic inducing translations, struggling to remain calm – and just focus on the text, dammit! Minutes of caffeinated, heart pounding anxiety as I forced myself to read just one more passage, to find a way out of this horrible mess that I had never foreseen – the one thing the Shanshu prophecy had never brought up, even in a vague hint.

Seconds of wondering when it would all fall down around me –

And when I would look to him – to that bundle of pure innocence made real by the Powers of two dark forces – my heart would shriek –

And I would work harder.

I suppose I could afford to indulge in a little self pity – and last night was it.

A deluge of painkillers and alcohol intended to numb the pain, only heightened it – and in the grip of the arms of Morpheus, I found a new pain.

 _Connor_.

He haunted my dreams with his terrified screams, his lost little arms waving in confusion and terror as he was ripped from my embrace – only to be taken to one of the furthest dimensions of Hell.

Yes, I have heard of Cortath.

And in the moments before I awoke to the heart pain of utter loss, and head pain of a vicious hangover – I knew the price of my ignorance. Innocence lost in the realms of the Dark Dimensions, supported only by the twisted rage and frothing vengeance of a madman.

Oh, God, Connor – if only I had known, if only I had figured it out.

But I had been forced into a corner –

Run with the child – or watch him be ripped from all of us by the brutal gang of Holtz’s men – to be subjected to Lord only knows what type of Hell, before the bastard killed him –

But not before he killed us.

If only he had made the exchange – and accepted the trade of my life for Angel’s –

Then maybe none of this would have happened...

 

 

His name was on my lips when I screamed myself awake – the cry ripping from my damaged throat in an anticlimactic half hiss – my trachea burning and bleeding afresh in protest to this rash abuse.

The light of the late afternoon stabbed my eyes, making them water, my head and heart pounding in vicious tandem, mouth dry from the residual combination of wine and Demerol. I have no idea why I mixed those two – but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

It’s funny how what seems to be a good idea when you are totally soused, can seem pale and transparent in the chill light of day.

Wine and Demerol . Wesley as a functioning, sane human being again.

I groaned, the sound no more than a strangled whisper as the rest of my body joined in on the angry contingent of my heart, head and throat– railing at me for the long night on the unforgiving couch, both upright and not so upright – every muscle sore and bruised feeling from the long vigil and thrashing dreams upon the unyielding cushions.

Right.

Demerol and coffee it is then…

I wonder if it will yield better results than Demerol and wine.Not bloody likely – but, worth a shot.

I staggered into the kitchen and found that I almost missed the hospital with it’s drowsy, clinical comfort. The soft sounds of people walking at all hours, talking quietly, had brought rushed, breathless moments of homesickness – but an odd kind of well-being, too.

There was always someone moving about at Angel Investigations, and the quality of the atmosphere was the same in many ways. Sleepy, easy and quietly soft. The warm silence of welcome, and long hours spent in contemplation. Even the occasional bustle of strenuous activity from beyond my room was familiar, with the same calm-urgency that signaled distress being soothed, conflicts being waged and won – hard earned praise being bandied about amongst like-minded folk –

Who were there to help the helpless.

All very touching, homey – and depressing.

For the first couple of days, I would find myself suddenly awake, a mild panic overtaking me as I wondered where I was, what I was doing there, and of course, what time was it?!

I had things I had to do! They needed me! I was late –

Angel and the others would be wondering…

Then I would remember – and someone would come to make it all fall away again with the wonders of modern medicine – accompanied with soothing chides about making sure I stayed still and silent.

I would do myself a further injury.

I would attempt to laugh at this, even as my pain floated away from me –

I was already injured beyond repair – couldn’t they see that?

Or were they too busy trying to resuscitate me, to notice that a very angry man had tried to finish what Justine had started?

I knew that, that was not a dream –

Dreams didn’t carry the rough/slick feel of cotton while it was pressed over your face – dreams didn’t shout orders about a crash cart and ‘ _watch out for his throat, are you trying to make it worse, goddamnit?!_ ’ – dreams didn’t carry the inner knowledge that it was all well and truly over, and that this was one nightmare you weren’t going to wake up from.

These, and other scraps would haunt me in the throes of narcotic sleep, and on the toes of that, the knowledge that I had lost it all –

That there would be no more rushing to the Hyperion for those certain texts to work out that particular translation, no more foul mud water masquerading as coffee, because Angel had tried to make a fresh pot – _again_ –

No more mock battles in the lobby over the last cheese danish, no more celebrations at Limey’s Pub for a job well done, a true battle well fought. No more Fred, or Gunn, or Lorne ( _God, Lorne, I’m so sorry – but I couldn’t let you stop me, I couldn’t_ ), no more Cordelia – and no more Angel.

And for that matter, no more Connor – the reason for the desperate bid for a final solution – the answer to the inexplicable mystery of the horrid truth that stared at me from the pages of dark tomes that spanned from corners of all dimensions.

The truth that they all declared in emotionless black and white –

A Truth that was a Lie.

An _elaborate_ lie to cover the real truth.

The Father Will Kill the Son…

When the truth was – the Watcher Shall Kill His Friendships.

I knew it was all too much to hope for, even amongst the steady beep-beep of monitors, and fading swish-rustle of padded nurses shoes down the hallways of the hospital –

I realized that my life was one huge trial, and Judgment had ruled against me.

Again…

I had grown to close to them all – and all of us suffered, in consequence.

These chill thoughts had returned to haunt me in the cool depths of my kitchen, where home truths always seemed to surface – even as the coffee spattered and hissed, brewing almost complete – even as my poor throat flamed and itched, the bandages too tight and scratchy against the open sore that was my trachea, the bandage sliding off slowly as fresh blood seeped out from under the dressing, streaking down to soak my collar.

I wordlessly muttered a curse, knowing that I was lucky to have kept my vocal cords – a fact I was reminded of consistently by the hovering ICU staff at Mercy General, in between stern chides to not ‘ _push it_ ’ – or the residual infection would finish off what was left of them.

So I guess screaming myself awake as I had earlier, would not have been recommended by my caregivers on floor six.

I caught myself before I could chuckle at this, almost surprised at the levity I felt at that second – the lightness a shock of heat against my cold heart –

Before the moment passed and I was pouring coffee into a clean mug, reaching for ice from bin so it would be cool enough to drink.

It’s the little things that get you.

Always an irony, that.

The little things did get me this time.

Connor, a fabricated prophecy, and that little nick across the neck.

It’s not funny, how life turns on you at times.

And here I had thought things were going so well…

I did allow myself a mild chuckle at that, but immediately stopped – not only did it send the ember of pain to a blazing bonfire of agony – but the sound was breathy and shrill in the hushed gloom of my kitchen. The laugh of the long dead, the whisper of a walking ghost.

Did they think of me as dead – did any of them dare to speak my name?

Doubtful.

I sighed soundlessly and sipped at my iced coffee, not even grimacing at the taste – I was used to long-cold coffee, par for the course as a Watcher and researcher – popping two Demerol to combat the fresh waves of agony from my sore, abused throat, the flesh sticking now, to the cottony surface of the gauze, causing the wound to stretch and pull as the blood clotted and caught against it.

Damn, Damn and triple Damn.

I hate changing dressings.

I have never been good at it –

But, I’m rather good at getting the types of injuries that require them.

Well, I’ll let the Demerol kick in, before I attempt any type of first aid – I was going to need it by the time I was done with my clumsy attempts at ‘heal thyself’ – infectious consequences be damned.

 

 

/ _ **Clarity is for those who cannot claim to know the Future – but are, as yet, Condemned by the Past…**_

Forty five minutes, two cups of coffee, another Demerol and one fresh bandage later, I went back to what had been my sole occupation for the past few days, ever since the hospital had dumped my sorry, drugged self back on my doorstep –

Sorting through my files on the latest prophecy.

I had been mildly shocked and appalled, to find that my files had been gone through – but only mildly. It seems that before they dragged Angel to my bedside on his hell-bent mission to choke the life out of me, they had gone looking for me –

Through my notes.

How... _touching_.

And thoroughly pointless.

It seems they had thought they could find where I had gone to, by rifling through my things like Mafia hounds looking for the contents of Al Capone’s safe. An idea that had most likely come from Fred – the ulterior motive to this, of course, was to find out where my head was at – not where my body was at that moment.

The irony being, that my body was only yards away.

I found it easier to quash the anger that rose at this thought, the more practice I had, and this being the hundredth time that idea had occurred to me – the thought that I was within shouting distance while they ransacked my apartment – I found I could dispel it with hardly any effort now. The pain of their betrayal was harder to beat back, and I did my stoic best to ignore it, as I recompiled my notes, and sorted them back into order – or, what I called order anyway.

I had only now realized how much information was missing, and though I have quite an excellent memory, if I do say so myself, I would have to recreate the notes before their ideas and unique insights were lost to me forever.

This…was going to take awhile.

 

 

It did, indeed, take the rest of the afternoon.

Around four, I finally took the time to stretch and work the kinks out of my cramped muscles, the head ache that had threatened and loomed ever since this morning, was coming back on with a vengeance –

And it was time to change the dressing –

Again.

“ This day is hardly worth it.” I grumbled to myself, starting the drip on the sixth pot of coffee of the day. “ Should have stayed in bed.”

I waited dismally for the pot to fill, mind a total blank, the information having been sucked out of my head through a pen, filling pages upon pages of a legal pad that I’d had squirreled away in a desk drawer.

Yellow, yellow pages, with hundreds of rows of neat blue lines marching across their surfaces – the thought of them was enough to increase the ache in my already pounding head.

On that note – Tylenol.

Then, another painful twenty minutes in the bathroom with bandages and Demerol...

And finally, another session with that legal pad, as I listed what books had been removed by my so-called friends, and another list of the books that I had stashed at the Hyperion – books that I could pretty much kiss goodbye. I’d never be able to get to them, but it was a small satisfaction that _they_ wouldn’t get any use out of them, either. Cordy had a chance, albeit a slim one, but the rest of them –

Actually interpreting and understanding demon languages was a dying art form, and one that I seriously doubted, that any of them could learn overnight.

They could have the books – as useless to them as they are – and struggle to understand them, as I know they will try.

And as for me?

I sighed and rubbed my tired eyes, leaning back in my chair, as the sun set beyond my window, the rays of it a rose-purple wash of color against the dim dankness of my living room.

I watched the dance of dying light, the ending of another day in Hell, as ideas and solutions to my current problems – such as rent and food, started to trickle in – slowly, but it was at least, a trickle.

It looked like my future was to buy those books again, and hope that my contacts still had the ability to take my calls.

If they even wanted too.

My wearied half-hope that I had nurtured last night was taking shape as a reality, and though it was still only the merest hint of an idea, it would equal my salvation if I could make it work.

Because if it didn’t –

I was out of options.  
  
I glanced around the room behind my chair, the shapes of furniture now hulking shadows, as the light from beyond the window faded to a dull red, then a darkening blue – the idea of food was almost a welcome one, a surprise in and of itself – and before I could change my mind, I rose from my perch to commence the business of going through the icebox to see if I could find anything edible.

I had a long day tomorrow – but, first food, then a long snooze – this time on my actual bed. If I was to be prepared for the coming days, be they disappointments or discoveries, I needed to pull myself together and try to establish at least some semblance of a normal life –

Whatever that was.

I popped a frozen dinner in the microwave, and ate it without tasting, my mind and body in accordance on the concept of sleep. After I tossed the leftover cardboard and plastic, dumping the soiled fork in the sink – I stripped down to my boxers on the way to the bedroom, depositing my clothes on the floor haphazardly as I went, a supreme advantage to living by oneself, I assure you – the bed a welcome comfort after a long day hunched over my desk.

It was a luxury I rarely got to indulge in when I was with Investigations – but one that I could afford now that I was no longer a part of them. It was an exhilarating and melancholy thought, the idea that I could once again feel the warm softness of sheets after a long day – to have the time and ability to revel in the drowsy pull of sleep in the proper place to do so – rather than hunched over a desk, or laid out on a couch to catch what sleep I could before I was back to the grind.

And to think, that only a month ago, I was going to let my apartment go, and move into the hotel – an apartment was a wasted expense when you were never there –

I was glad now, that I had put that idea off for another time – as this was now my only home, as well as my office and sanctuary.

It was this and other thoughts, that followed me into the wells of sleep, and to think, a mere 24 hours before I was in despair of what I would have to live for –  
Now I had an idea –

It was the time and energy it would take that was the most daunting.

But, I had an inkling of what was in store, and a direction to follow – and that was the biggest part.

My sleep was the sleep of the just – deep, dreamless and gratifying.

Tomorrow was another day…

  
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